


Everybody loves a landlord

by Hay_Bails



Category: Futurama, Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Eventual Romance, Family, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Just not the main characters, M/M, Multiple Pov, Other, Slow Burn, Tragedy, everyone dies, stanchez
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 11:08:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10638600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hay_Bails/pseuds/Hay_Bails
Summary: In a strange turn of events, Stanley Pines finds himself the head of a very full house.(Or, the crossover you always wanted, minus the comedy.)





	1. Stanley

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: implied character deaths.

* * *

_Stanley_

 

            The kid leaned against the doorframe, holding his weight up by his arms. Blood oozed steadily from a crater on his right thigh. He shivered uncontrollably, face pale against the crystalline frost adorning his wild hair. He was young.

            _“Sanchez?”_ I asked in disbelief.

            His eyes went wide, immediately distrustful. He looked ready to bolt. Despite the cold and his shivering, the kid shook his head fervently at me.

“It’s Sandoval. Richard.” He scooted a fraction closer to the cold doorframe. “Is your name Pines?”

            “Yeah. Richard Sandoval?” I parroted, trying to let my brain catch up with my eyes. The pronounced dimples in his cheeks. The eyebrows that nearly met in the center of his forehead, thick and unapologetic. He was _young._

            “No relation to Rick Sanchez,” he reassured quickly, lip curling up in distaste.

            Not knowing quite what to say, I nodded at the wound on his leg. “That looks pretty nasty. You better come inside so we can fix you up.”

            He hesitated. “How do I know you’re not with them?”

            “With who?” I asked.

            His hand gripped the doorframe a fraction tighter. His brow tucked downward in a frown as he considered his next move.

            “You know what?” he said, bracing himself and moving his weight onto his good leg. “Forget it. Forget I was ever here.” He took a step forward and stumbled into the deck railing. Another few drops of blood hit the wood, and I rushed forward to catch him. He bit his hand and groaned. I snaked my arms under his, holding his weight up for him.

            “Pretty hard to forget, with these bloodstains all over my deck,” I muttered.

            “I can walk,” he insisted with a grimace, trying to fight my grip.

            “Yeah, and I can fly. Come on, kid.” I pulled his arm over my shoulders, taking a cautious step back toward the door. He yelped as his bad leg dragged along the icy boards.

            “No! Stop,” he begged. I sighed mightily, letting him fall perhaps a little too hard. He caught himself on his wrists.

            "You want to run? Go right ahead. Be my guest." I gestured toward the open forest behind him.

            He made a few pathetic attempts to get up, stumbling and biting back a yelp each time he skidded back down onto the icy wood. I crossed my arms, feeling sorry for the kid.

            "I, um," he shivered after a couple of unsuccessful tries. "Please."

            "It's 'please' now, is it?" I grumbled. I leaned over with a groan and lifted him up once more, hooking my arm across his back. He was heartbreakingly thin.

            "Just don't... don't turn me in to the Council. I-I-I have a daughter. I..."

            "Don't worry," I muttered.

            With a couple of shaky steps I managed to guide him through the front door, shutting it tightly against the wind. His muscles relaxed instantly in the warmth of the cabin. He stumbled away from my arm.

            "Easy," I said, catching the fabric of his shirt. "I won't hurt you." With my free hand, I flicked on the hall light. Voices from the television in the sitting room drifted into the hall. The scent of leftover coffee lingered in the air. "See? Safe."

            The kid - he really was just a kid - sniffed and wrapped a protective arm around his chest. His wound was still weeping. He would never make it upstairs like that, I decided.

            "Come on." I nudged him forward, leading him to the spare room in the hallway. Carefully avoiding the large rug rolled up against the wall, I shepherded him inside and guided him onto the brown sofa. "Now, are you going to let me take a look at that leg?"

            He tensed, but nodded. I peeled the torn fabric away from the injury. His clothes had once been some kind of uniform, I realized. I wondered idly who he was running from, who this 'Council' was. The wound itself was not as deep as I had initially thought, but it covered a large part of his leg.

            "Stay put," I commanded as I went to go raid the Shack's first aid kit.

            When I returned, Richard was curled up asleep.

 

* * *

 

             "Hell of a time for a houseguest, Stanley," Ford grumbled. It was noon, but the first real storm of the season was closing in, making it feel like dusk. I hadn't told him anything about our visitor yet - just that we had one.

            "He's injured. What am I supposed to do? Let him freeze?"

            "The twins are supposed to arrive tomorrow morning. I want him gone before they get here."

            "It's not like we don't have the space," I muttered.

            "Space isn't the issue," Ford hissed. "There is a _complete stranger_ sleeping in our guest room right now! Do you even know who he is?"

            "He's Richard Sandoval," I responded. Plain and simple. That was the way to do it with Stanford.

            "Richard... is that even his real name?"

            "Does it matter?"

            "He could be stealing a dead man's identity, for all we know!"

            "Look, just because I borrowed your name for a while doesn't mean that every stranger who comes through Gravity Falls-"

            "Forgive me for not taking your every word as gospel truth, Stan _ley,"_ he interrupted coldly. The wind was starting to pick up outside. The walls of the Shack groaned in protest.

            "Call it a hunch," I said, "but I feel like we can trust him."

            "Ten o'clock tomorrow," Ford pronounced ominously. "Then he's gone."

            "You got it," I agreed.

 

* * *

 

             You could hear the shuffling from the next room. He dragged his bad leg a little bit on every second step: one-two, one-two. Eventually, he shuffled his way into the kitchen.

            "Call the presses," I announced. "Sleeping Beauty awakes!"

            Richard made a noncommittal sound and limped over to the counter.

            "Uh," he muttered, clearing his throat. My oversized bathrobe hung heavily from his slim shoulders. "Thanks?" The second half of the word rose in pitch, as if he needed permission to thank me.

            "No worries," I replied, trying to keep my voice neutral. "Feel a bit better?"

            He nodded. His hand grasped the edge of the counter as he steadied himself. Muted afternoon sunlight filtered in through the dusty window.

            "So," he said awkwardly.

            "So," I agreed. "We gonna talk about this?"

            He looked at the ceiling. "Is there a choice?"

            "The forecast is snow for the next two days. You _could_ leave. But I'm guessing you don't have anywhere to go."

            Richard scowled.

            "How do you know Rick Sanchez?" he asked.

            "We dated for a couple years in our twenties." I picked up my glass of water from the table and took a sip. "You look surprised."

            His hand gripped the counter a bit tighter. "I guess I never realized Rick..."

            "Was gay?"

            "Could commit to a relationship."

            "Ah." I sloshed the water around in my glass. "You meet my brother yet?"

            Richard shook his head. I tapped the side of my nose.

            "Probably for the best," I confessed. "You... uh, remind me of Rick."

            "I am Rick," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, _I'm_ not Rick. But I am a version of him. From another dimension." He said the words casually, as if he had explained this dozens of times before. It occurred to me that I should be worried by this statement, or at least surprised. I wasn't. I sighed.

            "Leave it to Sanchez to create clones of himself in other dimensions," I muttered.

            "He didn't create us," Richard corrected me with a shake of his head. "We already existed. There's another version of everyone. Even you."

            "So how'd you wind up here?" I asked, changing the subject. I'd save String Theory for later, when I'd had coffee.

            "Gravity Falls exists in every dimension," he said, a serious look on his face. He placed his other hand on the counter behind him, lifting a bit more weight off his bad leg. "All of them. No exceptions. There's something about this place that's strong enough to thread itself through every possible universe. So, I thought..." he trailed off, no longer looking me in the eye.

            "So you thought you'd come here to find whatever it is you're looking for," I finished for him. "What is it?"

            He shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

            "Come on," I cajoled. "I'm not gonna kill you for telling me."

            He winced, looking down at his feet. "I've said too much already."

            "What are you looking for, Richard?"

            He looked up, searching my face. Deciding whether or not to trust me. "I..."

            " _Stanley!"_

            "Dang it," I growled.

            Stanford burst angrily into the kitchen, holding up the ripped and bloodied remains of Richard's uniform. "What is the meaning of-"

            He stopped short, eyes widening as he saw Richard for the first time. He looked hurt. Then he looked angry, angrier than I had ever seen him.

            "Why, I'll _kill_ you, Sanchez, you son of a-"


	2. Dipper

_Dipper_

 

            I couldn't decide if our world had gotten smaller, or bigger. Mabel hadn't cried yet, but neither had I, so that wasn't saying much. I think it was still too fresh for either of us to really feel pain yet.

            Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford were waiting at the bus stop. I shook Mabel's shoulder to wake her up. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and bounded off the bus. I followed, a bit slower. My limbs were stiff from the cold.

            "Grunkle Stan!" she yelled, leaping into his arms for a bear hug.

            Despite themselves, they both smiled, just a little. It had been months, afte all. Ford clapped a hand on my shoulder. He seemed tense.

            "You have all your things?" he asked.

            "Just the big suitcase under the bus," I shrugged.

            "I'll get it," said a strange voice, one I hadn't heard before.

            I looked up. The voice belonged to a tall, skinny man with wild hair. He seemed nervous. Awkwardly, he limped - why was he limping? - to the bus, and hefted our bag onto his shoulder.

            "I can get it," I said belatedly.

            "It's fine," he huffed, lugging the heavy bag to Grunkle Stan's beat up old car. The convertible's roof was up. Once he had placed the luggage into the trunk, he shuffled back to Stan's side. I craned my neck. He had to be well over six feet tall.

            "Dipper, Mabel," Stan said. "I'd like you to meet Richard Sandoval."

            Ford scowled outright. He seemed really angry.

            "Hi, Richard," Mabel said, though she gripped Stan's sleeve tightly. I frowned. Everyone seemed nervous around the new guy - everyone except Grunkle Stan.

            "Hello," Richard said mildly. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the ground. He was wearing one of Stan's old jackets, and it hung limply from his slim shoulders.

            I didn't say anything.

            "Heh, sorry," Stan said. "They're probably feeling pretty rough right now. Aren't you, kids?" He looked apologetic.

            "It's okay," Richard said. His eyes looked everywhere but at me.

            "Can we go home now, Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked quietly. The smile had worn off. Her eyes seemed dull.

            Poor Mabel.

            "Yeah, sweetheart," Stan agreed. "Let's go home."

 

* * *

 

            I stared out the window as Gravity Falls drifted slowly past. Richard's lanky body took up half the backseat, forcing Mabel and I close together. I tried to ignore him.

            The car crash had taken everyone by surprise. It had only been a few days, and you could tell that Grunkle Stan hadn't expected to be back in Gravity Falls so soon. I felt guilty, making him come back like this, though logically I knew there wasn't much of an alternative. Mabel and I had nowhere else to go.

            Now that mom and dad were dead, what else were we supposed to do?

            "You kids want to stop at Greasy's for a milkshake?" Stan offered, glancing back at us in the rearview.

            "Thanks Grunkle Stan, but it's pretty cold outside," Mabel said. She hadn't been very hungry since the crash. I squeezed her hand. I hadn't found my appetite yet either.

            "I think we just need to sleep," I offered wearily.

            "You sure?" Stan asked, concern showing in his face. "We can stay up late, play cards, watch TV..."

            Ford silenced him with a look. "Let them settle in for the night, Stanley. There will be plenty of time for all those things later. Once we have the house to ourselves," he said meaningfully.

            Mabel sniffed. Richard tensed beside her.

            "Yeah," Grunkle Stan agreed, though he looked lost in thought.

            We drove for a few more minutes in silence.

            Then, without warning, a flash of green light blazed through the windshield. There was a thump, and the car screeched to a halt. Somebody screamed outside.

            "Ah, _fuck,_ " Stanley whispered. He and Ford leapt out of the car without another word.


	3. Leela

_Leela_

            It had been weeks since the incident. I was thinner than ever. 2016, I decided, was not a forgiving year.

            Being homeless didn't bother me - not really. What bothered me was that I had made the mistake of crashing the ship here in the first place. The wreck had torn me up badly. The crew, as far as I knew, were either dead or living a thousand years in the future.

            Professor Farnsworth might have been able to invent a time machine to bring me back, but me? I was a simple spaceship pilot.

            Gravity Falls seemed as good a place as any to set up camp, so I did. Though now, I thought to myself as the first few flakes of snow began to drift around me, perhaps staying here was not as good an idea as I had initially thought. I shivered and drew my green jacket tighter around my shoulders. The zipper had broken, so I crossed my arms in front of my chest to keep it shut.

            "Spare some change?" I asked the people on the sidewalk. Most of them sped up, or ignored me entirely. It was hopeless.

            I stood stiffly and stretched. I had to get moving for the night, or I would freeze to death in the dark. I stumbled a few paces forward.

            A flash of bright green across the street caught my eye. What _was_ that?

            "Sci-fi sounds!" I whispered to myself and scurried closer to the source.

            "Come on, M-Morty," I heard an old man's voice command.

            "W-wait up, Rick!" a substantially younger voice yelled. I saw two people emerge from the portal - it _was_ a portal - onto the road in front of me. A lanky old man swept across the street. Then a young boy tripped onto the road.

            Straight into the path of an oncoming convertible.

 

* * *

 

            "...she gonna be o-okay?"

            "I dunno, Morty." Voices swam into my consciousness. "She's hurt pretty," the old man belched, "pretty bad."

            "Whoa, hey, she's waking up!"

            I blinked painfully. A light shone into my eye. When it left, a swarm of silhouettes crowded around me, all whispering.

            "We can't leave her," a different old man's voice said. "Not with that eye. They'll tear her apart. Not to mention the possibility of a lawsuit..."

            The silhouettes began to take form. Two- no, three old men... or two? Was I seeing double? Sirens wailed in the distance.

            "H-hey," a young boy said, waving his hand unnecessarily in front of my eye. "Are you okay?" It was the boy who had almost gotten hit by the convertible.

            "Yeah," I grit out. I tried to sit up. I screamed.

            "Oh, no you don't," one of the old men muttered. He had been quiet until now. He put his hand on my chest and held me against the cold pavement. "You probably have internal bleeding. Not to mention several broken ribs."

            "What you did was incredibly stupid," stated the tall one, the one who had stepped through the green portal. His face took on several shades of humble. "Thank you."

            "Y-yeah," the boy chimed in. "You saved my life."

            "I did?" I asked with a cough.

            The other two looked almost identical. Brothers, I wondered? Maybe. The one with his hand on my sternum looked worried. "Possible concussion as well. Do you remember what you did?"

            I tried to shake my head. It hurt. I began to cry.

            "Definite concussion," the other brother agreed. "Geez, this is gonna cost me thousands..."

            "Shut up and help me get her into the back seat. Try to keep her head still."

            The three old men lifted me into the air. I don't remember what happened after that.

 

* * *

 

             I blinked heavily, trying not to move.

            "Hey there," a youngish male voice said shyly.

            "Hey..." I rasped. My voice was rusty from disuse. How long had I been asleep?

            "I saw what you did," the boy said shyly. "That was... really brave."

            Without moving my neck, I glanced over at him. His hair stuck up at every possible angle, and he would have been intimidating had he not been wearing clothes at least double his size.

            "Is that kid okay?" I asked.

            "Morty? Yeah, he's fine. Thanks to you."

            "That's good," I said, relaxing. "He came out of nowhere."

            "Yeah, Morties will do that."

            Morties, plural? I filed that question away for later.

            A thought struck me. "Am _I_ okay?"

            He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Well," he started, taking a breath. "We were able to fix most of the damage. You should be able to move. If... if you want."

            I lifted my arms. My fingers all seemed to be in working order. Toes too. My neck was fine as well, after some nervous experimentation. I tried to sit up, and fell back onto the bed.

            "The thing is... your stomach," he said.

            "What's wrong with it?"

            "You got beat up pretty badly. We had to take out... some things."

            "What are _some things?"_ I asked apprehensively.

            "Oh... appendix. Part of the liver. Uterus."

            I was quiet for a long moment. "Who are you?" I asked.

            "Oh! I didn't introduce myself. Um. I'm Richard. Uh, Richard Sandoval."

            "Leela," I responded. I felt empty, literally and figuratively. "What kind of hospital is this?"

            "Hello, Leela," he said, nervous but cordial. "It's not."

            "What do you mean, 'it's not?'"

            He gestured vaguely around him. "Welcome to the Mystery Shack?"


	4. Stanley

_Stanley_

 

             "Explain," I commanded, puffing my chest out angrily. Rick Sanchez sat nonchalantly on the sofa - though I didn't miss the fact that he kept stealing worried glances at his grandson, who stood awkwardly hunched at the opposite end of the room.

            "We need a crash pad." It was a statement, not a request.

            "No," I refused.

            "Stanley-"

            "I said no, Rick," I growled. He ignored me, taking a long draught from his hip flask.

            "It's just until I can get us set up somewhere m-more secure."

            My hands clenched into tight fists. "You can't just barge back into my life like this, Ricardo!"

            "Ricardo?" the teenager mumbled.

            Ford was busy helping the twins get moved back into the attic, but I had no doubt he was hearing every word. My resolve hardened. I lowered my voice despite my anger.

            "My nephew is dead," I started, each word a dagger in my throat. "You _left_ me after Colombia. I have to raise two grieving kids on my own, and I have two injured travelers occupying my guest bedroom. You. Can. _Not._ Stay. Here."

            Rick's eyes swept inquisitively over me. I think he decided I was serious, because he stood then, palms open and upward in a gesture of peace.

            "Whoa, Stanley," he tried to placate me. "Calm down. I'll earn my keep. You know I will."

            I grabbed his wrist tightly, and his bare skin felt like lightning on mine. Nonetheless, I dragged him to the door. "Out."

            "Hey, hey, hey, wait," the trickster said, stumbling over his own words. He gripped the doorframe tightly with his other hand while I tried to force him out. "What am I gonna do with myself, huh?"

            "Vete. Ahora."

            "¿Por qué, Stanley? Esto no es Colombia."

            "Cría cuervos y te sacarán los ojos," I spat. "Don't test my hospitality. I won't ask again."

            His arms went slack. His face fell.

            "Mi familia está muerta," he whispered. "We have nowhere else to go."

            "Rick?" asked the boy in yellow, alarmed. "R-Rick, what does that mean? Is that... Spanish?"

            "Don't worry about it, Morty," Rick said to his grandson.

            "Es tu nieto," I said. "I don't believe you."

            "Obviously not," Rick said resignedly. "Come on, Morty," he sighed. "We're not welcome here."

            I watched him walk out into the snowstorm. Morty looked worried. He hesitated. "Um," he asked me. "What... what does 'mee fameelia es muertah' mean?"

            Oh god, I thought. The boy didn't know.

            Were Rick's words true?

            "Ricardo," I stopped him. "¿Están realmente muertos?"

            For one long moment, he looked exhausted. Then he put his mask back on.

            "Yeah."

            "So... your daughter?"

            "En español, por favor. E-e-el chico no lo sabe. Yet." He crossed his arms. He shivered.

            "Rick," Morty whined. "What's going on?"

            "I-I'll tell you later, okay?"

            I scrutinized him for a long moment. He looked... sad.

            "Come back inside," I finally said with a long sigh.

            Ford was going to kill me.


End file.
